The Lonely Road
by Wolfie135
Summary: Set a couple of years after Sam left for Stanford, before the search for John began. Features Dean on a hunt alone, and how Sam deals with being on his own. Deans Hunt: A vengeance seeking ghost after big brothers that aren't there for their siblings, the story hitting a little too close to home for Dean ;)
1. Chapter 1

_"Hey, Sammy. I know your probably not gonna even listen to this message, but in case you do … call me back? I just wanna know that you're still alive man, so please? Call me? You know your brother? Dean? Just in case you forgot that actually have one."_

Sam clicked the end call button after listening to the voice mail that Dean had left him. He wanted to call him back, he really did and it wasn't that Sam didn't love his brother anymore because he did, probably more than was healthy. Dean had been the only thing that had kept him sane whilst he was on the road, hunting for as long as he had. And he missed Dean, really missed him, but he wanted the life that he had now too much and he knew that calling Dean back would be like giving him an open invitation to come on back into his life and bring all of the crap that Sam had left behind, with him. His damned conscience couldn't let his brother worry about him though, so Sam text him instead, that way he wouldn't have to speak to Dean and be reminded any more than necessary of the brother he had left behind.

Dean's phone buzzed with the alert of a new message. He picked his mobile up off of the cheap motel night stand and flipped it open. He stared in surprise at who it was from, because he honestly hadn't expected to get any kind of acknowledgement from Sam that Dean had even picked up the phone. He clicked 'open', eager and hungry for any kind of communication from Sam, and read the short and to the point text message.

_I'm fine Dean. Please quit calling me. Sam._

_Please quit calling me. _Like that was even possible. If the big oaf thought for one damned minute that Dean would just give up on trying to get his little brother to talk to him then he could think again. He might want Sammy to be happy, but Dean was still his big brother and he still loved the kid, still wanted reassurance that he was doing okay.

Whilst he was glad that Sam had responded to his voice mail this time, the text wasn't exactly a long heart felt paragraph about how great Sammy's new life was or about how much he missed his awesome big brother. But it was something. At least now he had some sort of confirmation that his little brother was still alive and kicking and hadn't been killed off by a demon or some other supernatural freak. Dean sighed a weary breath, but guessed that the text was better than the long bitter silence that had been the norm ever since Sammy had left for Stanford.

Dean lifted his beer to his lips and cringed at the warmth of it as it slid past his lips and down his throat. It was better than nothing though so he raised it again and drained the bottle, slamming it back onto the night stand when he'd finished.

He tried to distract himself from morose thoughts of Sam by moving over to the cheap round table at one end of the room and spread out the news reports and tried to find the connection between all of these people. Right now all he had was that they were all male, aged from 13 to 52, and they had all been killed with three shots to the chest, each shot being in the exact same place on each of them. No eye witnesses, no bullets, no gunpowder and no shots were heard.

The killings were usually 3-5 guys every 15 years in the week occurring after the 20th of September at which point no killings occurred exactly like that for the next 15 years. It seemed to be right down Dean's street of the weird and freaky.

He couldn't help thinking how useful Sammy would be right now though. Geek Boy was always the best at getting the research done and finding the information that they needed, whilst Dean had always hated having to do that kind of thing and so it took him forever to his ass in gear and do the research necessary.

He knew he was dealing with a ghost because of the pattern to the kills, the exact way in which all of these people had died and then the specific gender of each victim, kind of like the ghost was killing these people in the same way that he had been killed. The EMF at the crime scene of Adam Johnston's murder on the 20th, had only helped to confirm his beliefs. The problem he now faced was finding out who the ghost was and where he was buried so that Dean could salt and burn the poor sucker's bones.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean walked in through the doors to Apple Creek, Ohio's morgue dressed in his best cheap suit armed with his fake FBI badge, claiming that his name was Special Agent Howard Roark. He was coming in to inspect the murder victim, Adam's body hoping to find something that might not have been at the crime scene. It was a long shot, but it was Dean's best hope at the minute.

He flashed his fake badge at the desk in front and walked on through to the back, already knowing where he was going from the sheriff. He walked into the autopsy room to find the vic, Adam laid out the cold slab of the metal table. The coroner was standing just to side of him, finishing up his report by the looks of things.

"Hey Doctor Brown, what have you got for me?" Dean asked the slightly over middle aged man with the beer belly.

"You that FBI agent?"

At Dean's nod the coroner sighed and waved him over, inviting him to come for a closer inspection. Lovely. Dean loved the smell of the dead in the morning. Really got him motivated. Not. He was used to it though, living the life he did. Dead bodies just came with the job, whether they be human victims, bodies of the monsters he killed or the bodies of the people whose grave he occasionally had to dig up. Didn't mean the damned things didn't smell to high heaven though.

Dean walked over and ignored the odour of the dead man on the table and looked expectantly at the coroner.

"Well the cause of death was pretty obvious. Three shots to the chest. Two went through his lungs and one of them grazed his heart. Exit wounds for all three bullets, meaning that he didn't die instantly. He bled to death on his floor; he couldn't have been saved because the blood would have been pouring out too quickly and nothing could have done to repair both his heart and lungs before he bled out, but he would have lived long enough to have felt himself dying."

"Poor bastard." Was Dean's response. If a ghost had died like that, it might be enough to piss him off and want revenge on the guy that had done it. But then why so many? What had all of these guys done to have the ghost want them dead?

"Damn straight. There was no gunpowder around the wound though, makes me wonder if the killer cleaned up afterwards you know? … Well other than that I aint got much else for you on this guy. We do have another shooting victim that just came through though, if you wanted to have a look?"

Another one? Ghost moved fast, it was only the 21st, the day after the first murder, when the killings usually started. Couldn't say he was all that surprised though. This ghost clearly had grudge against the actions of these people, and one more victim just gave Dean a better look at their lives and let him see what it was that connected them.

"Yeah, sure. Why not. Make my day Doc." Dean said to the coroner with a smile. Easy to look like these deaths didn't bother him, that he wasn't tearing his mind apart trying to figure out what it was that made these guys important to this damned ghost.

"He's just in this drawer here." Was the good docs reply. "His names Craig Watt. Died from three shots to the chest and there were three exit wounds and no gun powder. Two bullets went through the lungs with the other grazing the heart. Bled to death as near as I can tell same as our other vic, Adam. Weird part is that all the shots are in the _exact _same place on both of them. And I don't just mean in the same general area, I talking about being in the _precisely_ the same place. It's really weird."

"Well, lucky for you I specialise in the weird." Dean said with a grin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Dean left the morgue and climbed into his '67 Chevy Impala, which was waiting for him on the curb outside. His dad had finally given in and let him have the car once Dean had begun hunting on his own. This car was basically his life. Whilst the scenery outside of its windows had been forever changing when he was growing up, the one constant that he had been able to count on, was this car and his little brother sitting in the backseat with him.

His little brother. His Sammy. Not having him around was like not having his arm anymore. A piece of him was missing, and it was Sammy that held it with him.

He couldn't help but resent Sam a little bit though. He felt as if Sam had abandoned him for this dream of an apple pie life, where everything in it would be hunky dorey with its white picket fence and 9 to 5 job. Hell, maybe even with a nice girl and a kid to ice that perfect little cake. He felt like Sam had left _him_ behind specifically, like it wasn't just dad that he couldn't stand it was Dean as well.

It was why he hadn't backed Sam up when he had had that huge fight with dad and then left them for good. He hadn't wanted Sam to leave. He did want him to be happy though, so he hadn't supported their father in their argument either.

Hell, John was one of the reasons Dean had wanted to break off and hunt on his own. He loved him, but for a while he hadn't wanted to be around the man he blamed for his brothers abandonment. He's stayed in contact though, because that's what good sons and soldiers did.

Dean shook his head, trying to rid himself of these thought. All they did was depress him and make him want what he couldn't have, what he could never have.

He called sheriff Ward, who was still at the crime scene and arranged to meet him there so the sheriff could walk him through what he had though had happened.

Dean turned the corner onto the street where the latest vic's house was and saw the curbs crawling with cops and CSI's. The houses here weren't the best and they were old, but they were well maintained making them pretty picturesque actually. Must be nice to have a home and yard that permanent.

He saw the sheriff out in the front yard talking with his deputy. Dean pulled the Impala over and climbed out, walked over to the sheriff and asked him what he'd found so far.

"Not much. No gun powder anywhere, no bullets to be found anywhere, no sign of forced entry, doors were all locked and no one saw or heard anything. Wife found him when she got home at 4am this morning from her night shift at the hospital, she rang 911 straight away. We'd have called you, but this coming in so soon after the last one we were just trying to get the body processed and sent down to the morgue asap. Vic died in the upstairs bathroom. We're just finishing up with it now; you still wanna take a look?"

Dean replied in the affirmative, and the sheriff waved for him to go on in before he went back to talking with the deputy.

Dean walked in through the front door of the 19th century home and climbed up the creaking stairs to the bathroom where the latest vic Craig had been shot down and left for dead. When he checked that no one was looking he pulled out his home made EMF reader and flicked it on. It went through the roof with an almost continuous beep indicating that there had been a ghostly presence here.

He wandered around the house looking for anything that may indicate why this man had been chosen. There were pictures all around the house of him and his wife in various places - their wedding, various holiday destinations. Looked like this guy really loved his wife, there were no other pictures of any family members anywhere.

Dean was in Craig's office and was rifling through his desk drawers when he discovered on old picture with worn lines from where it had been folded and handled often. It was picture of what looked like a slightly younger Craig standing with a man that could almost have been his double. Dean guessed that the other man was probably Craig's brother, judging from the similarity between them. Why was this picture in the drawer of his desk though? Guess it was time to go ask some questions of the wife.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note** - I decided to focus a little bit more on Sammy for this chapter, since we havent seen him since the first chapter :) Also, some of the words I've used such as couch I use because I'm British and all, and I'm not all that sure what word americans use so couch was what it ended up being, sorry. Although if someone could let me know the american word I'd be grateful, because this is supposed to be from Sam and Dean POV, and I'd much prefer to use their way of saying things. thanks :)

Sam placed his phone back in his pocket and sat down on his couch. It felt good to say that it was _his _couch. That he owned something that meant permanence. The fact that it was second hand didn't bother Sam. It was his and that was what mattered to him. His couch in his tiny apartment, that he lived in whilst he went to a college that he had chosen and that he had got into by himself. It was his and it all meant normality and permanence, a bed that he could sleep in for more than just a couple of weeks at the most. No matter how dingy it may appear or how much of his stuff had been owned by someone else first, none of it mattered because it all meant he was there to stay. It meant that he was in a place that he could finally call home. And he loved it.

His phone began ringing again, and he almost didn't bother pulling it out to check who it was, but he had a feeling that it was unlikely to be Dean again so soon. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. It was Jess. He couldn't help but grin like a fool. He had fallen for this girl almost the moment he had laid eyes on her. She was perfect. Gorgeous, funny and smart and that was only the tip of it with her. She was everything he had ever wanted, because again she meant that he had been able to set down some roots here, that he wasn't going to have to just get up and leave for the next job and never be able to look back. He quickly pressed the answer call button before he missed his chance to talk to her.

"Hey, Jess." He said with a smile in his voice.

_"Hey, Sam. So I was thinking that you should take me out. You know like dinner or a movie, or maybe you could go all out and get both?"_ she said through the phone.

"Oh I should, should I?" Sam said with a laugh.

_"Oh yeah definitely. I was thinking maybe Italian, and you could be romantic and stuff."_ Replied Jess.

"Okay, well Italian I can do, and I can probably fit a movie in there too if you really want it."

_"Of course I want the movie, Sam. Now is it gonna be a date like kind of Italian or the college student budget kind of Italian?" _Jess questioned him.

"You know it's almost like you don't trust me. But … to answer your question yes, it's the student budget kind of Italian and movie. Meaning pizza and a rental movie. In my defense though, I will get it from that pizza place that you love so much." Sam told her. He couldn't afford to take her out anywhere expensive, not without saving up first or if he were to earn the cash in the hunters way, aka hustling pool, and there was no way he was going to be doing that ever again.

_"Of course I trust you. Just not to pick a good movie, which is why I took the liberty of getting one for us already,"_ she said teasingly to him, _"and there are no bad pizzas at Tony's Pizza Palace, so I'll leave you to order that. I'll be over in about 20 minutes, kay?"_

Sam laughed, she knew him so well, well enough to know that he would never be able to choose a movie that they would both like. What could he say? He preferred the older movies; the ones that they showed as re-runs on bad cable TV, all of the films that hid dad had grown up with and shown him and Dean whilst on the road. And of course all of the typical guy films that include action. It would have been impossible to grow up with Dean without watching films that included violence. Sam had preferred the ones that hadn't had any monsters in them though for the simple fact that then the films were more normal, and how most people actually lived their lives.

"Fine. You want me to meet you and walk you here?" Sam asked her. He knew what hid in the dark, and he would die if anything happened to Jess. He wouldn't be able to bear it and he knew that if something supernatural killed her, he'd throw himself right back into that old life until he found the evil son of a bitch and killed it.

_"No, I'll be fine. Jenny's gonna walk over with me, she's staying at Anna's tonight." _It was a small relief. Two of them together made them a less likely target, and it would be okay for Jenny because Anna live just across the street from Sam.

"Good, well I'll see you soon Jess."

_"See you in 20, Sam"_

"And Jess? I love you."

_"I love you too Sam."_

"Excuse me, miss? Are you Mrs Watt?" Dean asked of the woman who the sheriff had pointed out and identified as being the wife of the recently deceased.

Her eyes were bright and puffy with recently shed tears, and she held in her hands a tissue that he guessed she had been using to try and dry her eyes, and erase the evidence if her emotional breakdown, not that he could blame her. Losing someone you loved is a terrible thing and being a hunter he saw plenty of people in the first stages of mourning their loved ones.

"Y-yes." She answered him in a voice made unsteady from the barrage of bad luck that had come her way.

"Ah, I'm Agent Roark, I was wondering if I could just ask you a couple of questions about your husband?"

"S-sure, go ahead. What do you wanna k-know?"

"Does your husband have any enemies Mrs Watt. Anybody who'd want to hurt him or that might have a grudge against him?"

"No, of course not. Everybody loved Craig. He was an honest and hard-working man … although, now that I think about it, him and his brother had a huge falling out about couple years ago, and Daniel always said that Craig would regret that day. That one day he would realize what he had lost. But Daniel would never do anything like this; no matter what he said he always loved Craig."

A brother? It could be something but then again it was just as likely that it wasn't It was the best lead he had yet though that involved some kind of grudge, even if it had been between two living people and not the ghost who's identity was currently hidden from Dean.

"Do you know what had happened to make them fall out, Mrs Watt?" Dean inquired of her.

"Oh, ahhh. You know I'm not entirely sure. Craig didn't like to talk about it, he and Daniel had been really close up until then, and they had only had each other for family. Craig's parents had died when he was just 22 and Daniel was 19. It hit them both hard. Whatever their fight was over though, it was enough to virtually rip them apart."

A grudge between brothers. Neither off them speaking to the other. It made Dean wonder.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

After speaking to the wife, Dean headed back to his Impala and climbed into the driver's seat. He settled himself back into the original leather seats and sighed. Thinking about the deceased man and his brother made him think of his own. About how much he wished that things could go back to how they used to be, all of them as a family on the road, saving people and hunting the evil sons of bitches that tried to eat, kill and drain innocent people.

Sammy would have had this figured already. Research would have been the very first thing he upon arriving in town. But Geek Boy wasn't around anymore and Dean had to do the research by himself, or else call his dad, which he'd rather not have to do, knowing that he'd get a whole lot of disappointed sighs and complaints.

He started his baby's engine and turned back down the street and around the corner to head for the library. Maybe there would be something he could find on the internet about the history with these last two victims; maybe he'd even get lucky and find something in the old town records that might help him figure out who this ghost was and where he was buried.

He pulled up in front of the town's small library and shut of the Impalas engine. He climbed out and walked up the old stone steps that were chipped and worn from years of feet walking back and forth over them. When he walked through the old doors with the worn wood, he spotted two ancient looking computers set slightly apart from all the various books that the town had collected over the many years it had been open.

He flicked the screen on the computer that was closest to the library doors and pulled the chair out and sat down. He opened the web browser and entered the latest victim, Craig's name along with that of his brothers. Most of the pages were news reports of the accident that had involved their parents and had gotten them killed. He also found records stating that the vic's brother Daniel had sold Craig his half of the shared business a couple of years ago, fitting in with the timeline that the wife had given him about when the two brothers had had their falling out.

He also found a report that said the younger brother, Daniel, had been beaten up by three men a few weeks before the selling of his half the brothers company. From what he could get it seemed that Craig should have been with him that night.

Craig, the elder brother, hadn't been there to protect the younger one, Daniel. Just like Dean wasn't around for Sammy right now. The train of thought made him pause and think about his own relationship with his brother. He thought of how he hadn't been able to protect Sammy before, like against that Shtriga. How he hadn't defended Sam against their father. He had always sworn to protect Sammy. Sworn to their mother, sworn to their father, that no matter what he would always do his very best to protect Sammy from the evil in the world. It was his job as a big brother.

Dean's eyes were becoming unfocused and blurry with the thoughts that he wasn't able to protect his little brother. He tried to focus on the case, hoping that it would help. He entered a search for the first victim Adam Johnston and discovered that he was also an older brother. From what he could tell, there was some shady going ons between the two earlier in the year. It looks like Adam gave the cops and the court information and evidence framing his brother in an embezzlement scheme.

It looked this was what the ghost was going for. Older brothers that didn't protect their younger siblings for various reasons. He bet that if he were to look into the past of the other victims from the previous years then he would find similar situations.

Now to find who the ghost was. He had quite a bit to go on if her were honest with himself. The 15 year mark was obviously significant as was the date – 20th September - and the ghost had probably died by being shot three times in the chest. Since brothers were significant to him, he guessed that the ghost would have been the younger one since he was killing off the elder brothers. The ghost was obviously buried here in this town since that's where all of his kills took place.

Now all he had to do was go through the towns records and find the guy who fit the profile he had. He checked the computer to see if the records had been put on it, but his luck ran out there. Damned typical. He clicked off the pages he had had open and pushed away from the computer desk to head over to the written town records. When he found them, all he could do was stare. How many people could have died in a town this damned freakin' small? This was just his luck. Geek Boy would have been damned useful right about now.

Dean tried to do some quick maths in head. Of course it had never been his best subject, so it took a couple of minutes to work through it. It was 2004 now, and there had been three occasions that the killing had taken place which meant that the ghost would have died a total of45 years ago. 45 years ago would make the date of the ghost death, presumably, 20th September 1959. See? He could do maths.

Dean smiled at his brilliance and smarts as he pulled out the death records for that year. Sammy wasn't the only one with the brains. His smile faltered at the thought of his estranged brother. He couldn't dwell though. He had work to do. Like his dad had always told them, you get the job done and leave your chick emotions at the door.

He took the book over to a vacant table and sat down before he began to scan the through the book, looking for the 20th September. His luck pulled through when he discovered that there was only one person who had died in this town on the 20th September 1959. Thank God for small towns, eh?

Looked like the unlucky winner was one Benjamin Potts, aged 15 when he had died. The records declared that he had died from three shots to the chest, after being mugged. He picked the book up and carried it back over to the vacant computer, to do a little more research on this kid before he went and dug up his grave and burned his bones.

When put into the search engine it came up with news reports of this kid being killed whilst he was on his way home from football practice. He had taken a back street to try and get home quicker and that had been his mistake. The man had shot down Benjamin before he had even given him time to give the damned mugger his wallet. The news reports all had quotes of the older brother blaming himself for his death, because he was supposed to have gone and given him a ride home after practice, but had never showed up. Benjamin's killer had finally been caught exactly seven days later. He was given the death penalty. Gotta love your small towns. Everyone hated the outsiders, especially the ones that killed their own.

It definitely all fit in with this ghosts M.O. Three shots to the chest, blames the older brother and every 15 years because that's how old he was when he died. On the 20th onward because it was the anniversary of his death and a week was how long it took to catch his killer.

But the ghost still blamed his brother for his death. He hated all those older siblings that should be there to protect their younger brothers but aren't.

Would Sammy blame him if anything ever happened to him? Dean knew that he wouldn't need Sammy to blame or hate him; he'd do all that to himself. He could never live with himself if anything ever happened to his little Sammy. His snot-nosed kid brother that he had sworn to always protect no matter what. The last gift his precious, beautiful mother had ever been able to give him. It was a gift he had always treasured. Always would.


	6. Chapter 6

**Note - **Sorry I've taken so long to post, college work load has been a bitch this last week but I'm working through it and writing this in all the free time that I give myself :) And hey who's seen the latest episode (12) of Supernatural?! I think we're starting to see our Dean come back ;) I sure hope so! x

Dean tried to focus on the task at hand and looked for where the Benjamin kid was buried. By the looks of it, he was buried on a small plot in the town's cemetery. Thank God he was actually buried and hadn't been cremated; it would have made his job a whole lot harder than he wanted it to be right now.

He just wanted to finish up on this job and then get the hell out of town. This ghost was bringing back the bad memories of that night Sammy had left and made him think that maybe if Dean had just supported Sammy then maybe he would still talk to him. Then again maybe not. Why would Sammy want a reminder of all he had had to put up with all of his life? Absent fathers, crappy motel rooms, coming close to death over and over again and a brother that could barely protect him even when they had lived together, even if Sam would have disagreed whole heartedly.

Dean shook his head and took a deep breath; he grabbed the record book and closed his web pages and pushed away from the ancient computer's desk. Shoving the book back on the shelf, he hunched his shoulders and put his head down to protect himself from the cold wind as he walked out of the doors to the library. Jogging down the steps he quickly pulled open the Impala's door and jumped into the seat, shutting his door behind him.

He put in one of his AC/DC cassette tapes in the hopes that the awesome music of a great band would distract him from the pessimistic direction this case was making his thought go in. It was ridiculous, he had never dwelled so long on thoughts of Sammy and how much he wished that his little brother was still on the road with him, hunting down every evil son of bitch that they could find, and even saving a few people when they could.

He started the Impalas engine and pulled away from the side of the curb, heading back to his motel room. There wasn't much he was going to be able to do until nightfall. People tended not to take too kindly to those who dug up graves. He couldn't imagine why.

As he pulled away and drove down the street though he didn't notice the cold spot, or the EMF that spiked or even the pale, black haired teen with three holes in his chest that appeared to flickering in and out of focus, gazing after him with anger and hate burning in his icy blue eyes.

Sam was lying in his queen sized bed with Jessica fast asleep next to him, her head resting on one of his pillows and the comforter barely covering her body. He pulled it up over her soft shoulders making sure that she was covered before he gently kissed her blonde hair and pulled away and out of the bed. He smiled down at her before he moved out of the bedroom and shut the door. Grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen he moved through to his living room and threw himself down onto his couch. He picked his phone up and went through his contact list pausing at Dean's name.

He longed to call his brother, let him know that everything was okay, that he missed him. But he couldn't do it. He still harboured some anger towards his brother. All of his life, Dean had been there to protect him and watch out for him, even when he didn't need it. Dean had always been there for him, whether it was to patch him up after a hunt or when he'd needed comforting after a nightmare as a kid. He had even protected him against John, their father, always sticking up for him. But when Sam had needed him the most, when he had gone so far as to beg Dean to support him, Dean had just turned away, not even uttered a word in Sam's defence. And Sam had felt betrayed.

So when John had said if he was going to go he should stay gone, Sam decided then and there that he would never go back. That he didn't need them. His anger had fuelled his need to be independent, to prove that he didn't need Dean to watch out for him. Not anymore.

But it was so hard. Every time he got a call from Dean, every voicemail and text that he left, picked even more at the hole in his resolve to stay away from his 'family'. From his big brother.


	7. Chapter 7

**Note - **So since its been a few days since I posted a new chapter I thought that you deserved another one, and here be chapter 7. Now babyreaper, I know that I said i was going to be making Sam a little less 'this is all mine, rawr rawr rawr' BUT I didn't want to do it in this chapter. But I promise it will be in the next one.

Dean checked the time on the motels alarm clock that sat on the night stand and saw that it read 23:45 PM. Fifteen minutes to midnight. Perfect. Everyone in town would most likely be asleep or in bed and won't notice Dean walking through the grave yard and taking a particular interest in the grave of one Benjamin Potts.

Dean grabbed his knife from under his pillow and put it inside his leather jacket, making sure that it was secure before he grabbed the Impala's keys and headed outside, gently closing the motel room's door behind him.

He popped the trunk on the Impala, and lifted up the base concealing his weapons cache using one of his shot guns to prop the lid and keep it open whilst he checked that he had everything he would need such as salt, gasoline and a shovel.

Satisfied that he had what he would need, he closed the lid to the cache making sure that it was in place before closing the trunk of the Impala. Climbing in the driver's seat, he started up his baby and pulled out of the motels parking lot, heading across town to the cemetery.

Thankfully the cemetery and the small church that accompanied it, was set away from the rest of the town, ensuring that Dean was much less likely to be disturbed by stray towns people who didn't know that you were supposed to stay inside at night because that was when most of the supernatural creatures came out and hunted, looking for tasty yet idiotic people to snack upon.

He pulled the shovel, salt and gasoline out of the Impala's trunk and set off on his search for Benjamin's grave. Luckily for Dean, the cemetery wasn't all that large so he didn't have to search for long before he found the grave he was looking for. It was beside many others, all similar to his, all stating that they were loved, that they were sons and daughters, mothers and uncles. Brothers. Benjamin's stated that he was a loved son and a loved little brother. By his grave side were ancient photographs in frames worn by time. Small ornaments that old friends had left there years ago. The flowers had long since died, as if no one could bear it to come out here anymore and have to remember the little boy who had had his future ripped from his fingers by cold bullets.

Dean picked up one of the frames, disturbing on old football whilst he did. In it was a picture of the kid, Benjamin, at what looked to be about five years old and his older brother. His brother was teaching him how to play football, even then. They were smiling and laughing, playing together like brothers should. There was a piece of paper lying over the picture, beneath the laughing boys.

It said, 'Ben. I'm so sorry little brother. I should have been there and I wasn't. I don't ask that you forgive me, because I know that I never will. But I hope that wherever you are now it is somewhere happy and a better place than this. All my love, Derek.'.

Jesus. Dean didn't know what to think about that. Clearly his brother blamed himself, and had set upon hating himself for the rest of his life, and never forgiving himself for the death of his younger sibling. He guessed that the football at the base of the head stone was the one in the picture, which 'Derek' had left here for his little brother as a reminder of happier times between them.

It reminded Dean of times with Sammy.

_"C'mon Sammy, pass the ball!" A thirteen year old Dean shouted to his little brother Sammy, who was only nine._

_Sam threw the ball but it only went a couple of feet before bouncing on the ground a few times and coming to a stop, a slight distance from Dean's feet. Sam looked at it disappointed, not happy with the fact that he hadn't been able to throw it very far._

_"I can't do it Dean. I'm no good at this, not like you."_

_"Don't be silly, Sammy," Dean said as he ran over to the poor kid, picking up the fallen ball as he did. "You just gotta know how that's all. C'mon I'll show you."_

_Dean passed the old football to Sam. He had managed to save up some money so that he could buy one. He had gotten this one at a second hand store in the town that they were staying in for next few weeks, and thought it would be perfect. Dean had thought he would be able to give his little brother something that all the other boys had, even if it was only something as simple as teaching him ball._

_He placed his brother's hand on the ball like they had taught him to do at one of the schools he had been to. He couldn't remember the name of the school, but he had remembered the technique because he had always wanted to be able to teach Sammy how to do it._

_"See, you just gotta place your hand on the ball here, and then pull your arm back." Dean explained as he drew Sammy's arm back behind his head._

_"Then place your feet here, like this. That's it, good job Sammy." Dean praised as he looked upon his brother, poised at the ready to throw the ball._

_"Now, when you throw the ball, all you gotta do is twist a little, like I was doing, 'kay?"_

_Sam looked at Dean, unsure, questioning and not trusting himself to be able to do it. Why on earth would standing like this and throwing like that, make the ball go further? Dean saw that look, and knew just what to say._

_"It _will _work, Sammy. Trust me."_

_"Always." Sam replied, new found confidence in his eyes and his voice as he looked up at Dean. He would always be able to trust him. Dean was his big brother and it was just what brothers did for each other. They trusted in one another._

**Note - **So since I'm from England and we have _completely _different idea to Americans as to what football is, I went with my best guess from watching T.V that was based in America, such as Bones as to how to throw the ball. Pretty sure Agent Booth was teaching his kid Parker in one episode of Bones ... But yeah, lets just go with that I'm right or at least half way there ;)


	8. Chapter 8

_"Trust me." Dean said to an unsure Sam._

_"Always."_

And Sam always had trusted his big brother, he thought as he remembered good memories of him and Dean. No matter what situation they had found themselves in, Sam had always been able to trust Dean with anything. He trusted Dean to protect him. To be there for him. Everything. Hell, he trusted that Dean would come to Sam, if Sam ever needed him to. Just one call, one text to say that Sam needed him and he'd be there. And if Sam were to be honest with himself, if Dean came to him and said that he needed his help with something serious Sam would help. Sure he might grumble at it and appear reluctant but he knew that if Dean truly needed him then he would be there for the big brother that had been there for him all of his life.

Thinking of Dean, Sam found his wallet and opened it up as he sat back down on the couch. Opening one of the small side pockets he pulled out an old picture that had been folded and handled so many times over the years that it had started to fade a little. But Sam could still see the two kids in the picture.

It was one of him and Dean at the home of one their Dad's friends, Bobby Singer. He was a hunter too, but he still owned the house he had had before he had become one, along with the salvage yard he owned and ran.

In the picture, he and Dean were by the Impala with its hood popped open. Dean was fifteen in this photo and already he knew how to fix up a car when it wasn't ticking quite right, and especially when it came to the Impala. Dean was covered in car grease, and Sam remembered coming out to see whether or not Dean had finished up. So of course Dean had decided that it would be a great idea to cover Sam and his clean clothes in the same grease that covered his big brother.

Both of them were laughing whilst Dean had tried to completely cover him with the grease, and at the same time Bobby had snapped up a camera that was lying around and had taken a picture of them both. He had said that the two boys had needed a reminder that they could have happy times, despite the life that they led. And Bobby had been right. Every time Sam pulled it out and remembered them laughing, he was reminded that not everything about their life had been terrible. He had still had his big brother with him.

A few stray tears fell down Sam's face. He wished he could have that kind of relationship with his brother again. When they had conversed with ease, laughed together over stupid things, played ball and hung out as brothers. But he couldn't. Dean was so firmly in the hunter's way of life that going back to him would mean entrenching himself back into it as well.

But Sam could do what he could here. Maybe after he had finished law school, he would be able to help Dean out in his own way. God knows how many times Dean got himself into trouble, and as a lawyer he could help get him out again. He may not want to be a hunter, and he may want to lead a safe life, but that didn't mean that he didn't want to be able to help his brother.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXX

Dean wiped away the single tear that had managed to escape as he thought about the days when Sammy had trusted him blindly. When he had been able to give his brother the normal things that he wanted, or at least try to. But it just hadn't been enough, not really. And Dean couldn't help but resent the fact a little. He had tried so hard to make life better for Sam when they were growing up, and Dean felt as if he had basically thrown it back in face when he had walked out that door without a backwards glance.

And Dean knew that Sam probably felt betrayed by the fact the Dean hadn't supported him, but how could he have? His little brother had wanted to leave them, and family was supposed to stick together, not up and go off to freakin' college, for God's sake! Sam wasn't the only one who felt as if his brother had turned his back on him.

But he couldn't dwell on it now. Right now, he had a job to do, and by God he was gonna do it without getting his damned chick emotions involved.

He grabbed his shovel and was about to stab it into the ground when he paused and looked at all of the pictures and ornaments. He left his shovel where it was and went over to move them and put them to one side so that they wouldn't get damaged. Kid might be killing people but ghosts were hardly a true representative of what a person has been like when they were still alive. It was why they were called 'vengeful' spirits. All that was left of them was the part that wanted revenge, not the part that they had truly been.

After setting all of the pictures and mementos to one side, Dean went back to the shovel and got to work.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean was sweating and covered in grave dirt when his shovel met resistance in the form of Benjamin's coffin. Sadly, it wasn't a plain old wooden one that he could have smashed his way through, so he cleared away the dirt that lay on top of the casket and then swung open the lid.

Inside the coffin was cheap material hiding the padding that held the decayed body of the dead fifteen year old, and Dean couldn't help the small grimace that crossed his face. The Benjamin kid was dressed in what he guessed would have been his Sunday best, but which was now covered in dirt and was simply a shell for what was left behind.

The smell that came with the dead had long since gone, and all that was left behind was the dry skin and the bones underneath them. Dean couldn't help but think that the now empty black eyes were staring at him and condemning him. Hell, it was more likely that this job was getting to him. All the more reason to get this over with and then get the hell out of town.

He put his hands on the side of the hole head created around the casket, and pulled himself up, swing his legs as he did. Once he was securely topside he went to pick up the salt and gasoline from where they lay in the cold grass. Dean twisted the cap off of the salt as he turned back around to the grave and began pouring it down the newly dug grave and over the dead boy's remains, a grim look on his face as he did.

Putting the cap back on the salt, he then pulled the lid off of the bottle of gasoline and began to drizzle the fuel over the remains and the salt. Just as he started however his whole frame was suddenly flung to the side, his head barely missing a head stone, the gasoline knocked from his hands.

Biting back a groan as he lifted his head up and turned over onto his back, he finally felt the signature cold of a ghost pass over him and he saw his breaths come out as wisps of white.

Dean looked up into the accusing eyes of the fifteen year old mugging victim, Benjamin Potts. The ghost child's black hair hung limply around his gaunt face, his icy eyes glaring down at him. Now fully alert, Dean saw the ghost kid's pale and steady hand rise up with confidence and shaped as if he had his hand wrapped around a gun, his finger placed obviously over the trigger.

Thinking quickly, Dean rolled to the side just as an invisible shot from the unseen weapon went off right where he had been lay barely a second before. Dean scrambled to his feet and turned to face the very pissed off ghost.

"You can't run. Not from me." Benjamin's voice rasped out. "I know what you've done."

"Oh yeah? And what would that be oh wise dead guy?" Dean said, clutching at straws trying to distract the ghost for just a minute. Long enough so that he could reach the grave side.

"You've not been there for your younger brother." He rattled out, black blood from his shot lungs dribbling out of his mouth and past his blue lips.

"Not been there for him?" Dean replied, just a little more than irked by that. "I've been there for Sam his whole life! When our mom died, when our dad was dragging us around to every hunt he could find and when we started hunting ourselves, it was me who protected Sam! Me! I've always protected him! Always been there for him!" Dean ended up shouting at the ghost, his rage at his brother and this damned ghost coming to the fore of his mind and his mouth.

How dare this ghost accuse him of not being there for Sammy? After everything that they went through as brothers growing up on the road. Dean's was the shoulder Sammy had cried on after a nightmare. It was Dean who had always patched him up after a hunt. Dean who Sam had come to when he had wanted advice on things. Yet this ghost had the nerve to tell him that he hadn't been there for his brother?!

Sure maybe not when Sam had gone off to college, but that had been Sam's choice to cut off all contact, not his! Sam was the one who had left, who had deserted his family. If it had been up to Dean, then Sam would have stayed with them. So this ghost could get up off his high horse telling Dean that he was an unfit big brother!

"And where is he now!" Benjamin wailed at him "If he is not here then you are not protecting him!"

As the ghost screamed those last words, he came sailing towards Dean in a fit of rage, his hands splayed out before him.


	10. Chapter 10

In a burst of speed, Dean pulled up the shotgun that he had retrieved from the ground when he had been distracting the ghost. Aiming his favorite sawed off weapon at the howling ghost child, he quickly pulled the trigger and sent the rock salt filled shells flying into Benjamin's corporeal body, dispersing him immediately.

It might not kill him – again – but hey. It'll damn sure slow him down long enough for Dean to strike a match and light him up.

Of course, when did anything ever go to plan in Dean's world?

As Dean placed the shotgun under his arm and fumbled to pull the matches out of his pocket, the ghost returned madder than ever, and shoved him to the ground. His head whacked the cold soil as he landed on the hard packed floor and the matches were knocked out of his reach, a mere few centimeters from his fingertips. Friggin' typical, stupid ghost, Dean grumbled to himself.

With Benjamin's arctic gaze upon him once more as he stood above Dean, he again raised his hand as if to shoot Dean in the chest. The kid had an almost triumphant look upon his face as he went to pull the 'trigger' of his invisible gun.

But there was no way in hell Dean was dying today. It would be too cruel to the female population of the world if Dean Winchester wasn't around to show them what a good time was really like.

Fast as a bullet, Dean pulled his lighter out of his jacket pocket and lit it first try. Smirking, he said to the ghost,

"Hasta la vista, douchebag." As he threw the flaming lighter into the grave.

A whoosh of flames instantly arose, washing Dean's face in the dancing fire light. The ghost also began to burn as his bones did, his attack on Dean halted. The Benjamin kids eyes were shut tight as he flung his head back, screaming. His hands were clenched tight to his sides as he fell to his knees without a sound.

Then, from one instant to the next, he just wasn't there anymore. Gone in a shimmer of smoke that disappeared just as quickly as he had, not even seconds ago.

As Dean stood up and brushed himself off, he looked silently into the grave at the flames that were slowing claiming the bones of the deceased boy. As he watched them burn he contemplated whether or not the ghost actually felt pain as he went up in flames. The screams he had emitted indicated that he did, but how could a ghost feel pain without a true body to feel it with?

It was something he had wondered at from time to time, and had never found an answer that truly satisfied him. In the end he always settled on the fact that it didn't matter whether or not they did. A vengeful spirit killed people and therefore had to be stopped. If burning them was the way to do it, then so be it. And it was Dean's job as a hunter to stop the evil, and burn the ghost if that was what duty called for.

It used to be Sammy's job too. The family business, Dean used to joke with him. Of course Sam had always just given him one of his bitch faces, and told him that purposefully going looking for trouble was no kind of business, it was just plain crazy. To which Dean always replied, well what's life without some crazy in it. Which of course just earned Dean another classic, Sammy bitch face and then a sigh, but it usually kept him quiet.

He sure missed working with Sam. Despite always yearning for a different life, he had always made a damned good hunter, one that Dean had been proud of. But he guessed some things just weren't meant to be.

Sam would have his college life and become some fancy lawyer. Settle down with a wife, kids and a white picket fence. But Dean couldn't do that. He thirsted for the blood of the freak that had killed his mom.

Dean had been old enough to know and remember his mother. To remember her beautiful face, her voice as she would sing to him and Sammy at night to help them sleep, and how she would tell him that angels were watching over him every night before bed. It made his heart ache when he thought of how she had been taken from him, how Sammy had never gotten to truly know what she had been like.

Perhaps if he had, then he wouldn't have been so eager to go off to college. Maybe he would have been more driven to find the evil son of a bitch that had stolen their mother's life.

Dean thought about what he had said to the ghost in his anger about Sam. It was true that Dean had tried to be there for Sam as much as he possibly could. It had been driven into him since that night that he _had _to protect Sammy. That Sam was his to protect, and that he had to it to the best of his ability.

Dean thought about how maybe he had_ let_ Sammy cut off contact with him. In his silent anger, Dean hadn't truly wanted to speak to Sam, probably as much as Sam hadn't wanted to speak to him.

Perhaps they had betrayed each other. Sam had left them, ditched his only family for college. But in the same breath, Dean had always known that Sam wanted a normal life, and Dean had chosen not to support his brother in the foolish hopes that his little brother would stay.

It did no good to either of them to dwell on it now though, and think about how differently things could have gone. How if people had just reined in tempers, and hadn't spoken meaningless words in anger then maybe they would still be a family, albeit one that was different from most. Where being a lawyer was the abnormal thing to do, and hunting monsters was more accepted.

The damage was done however and Dean could only hope that one day they could come back together as a true family, even if it meant having a college educated, fancy lawyer for a brother.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few hours later Dean's phone rang. It was his father. Dean contemplated ignoring it, but like a good son and soldier he answered anyway.

"Hey dad, what's up?" Dean said into the phones speaker.

"Hey Dean. I've got a job for ya." John's gruff voice replied, straight to point like always.

Instead of asking what he really wanted to know, like how his father was, was he doing okay, had he checked on Sammy lately, Dean simply snatched up the motel note pad and a pen and said to his father,

"Go ahead, what is it? I've got pen and paper at the ready."

"Good boy. It's down in New Orleans. Suspicious goings on and signs of voodoo from what I've seen."

"Seen? You mean you're already there." Dean said it as a statement rather than a question, knowing that the answer was more than likely true.

"Passed through on my way to another case, thought I'd linger for a day or two see what was what, before calling you. Can you do it, son?"

"Yes sir."

"Good boy. Call me when you've finished up."

"Yes sir."

At that the line was abruptly cut off, signalling that the conversation was over and Dean was to get his ass in gear and hit the road to New Orleans.

Thoughts of catching a couple hours of sleep gone, he quickly threw his stuff back into his duffle bag, pulling his knife back out from under the pillow and putting it in his jacket and then checking that his favorite gun was tucked safely into the back of his pants.

He pulled the motel door open, and turned around giving the room one last glance to see if he had left anything behind. Finding nothing, he closed the door and locked it, then returning the key back to the front desk and checking out of the latest crappy motel in a very long line of crappy motels.

He threw his duffle bag onto the back seat of the Impala before climbing into the comfy worn leather of the driver's seat. Dean switched on the engine and felt his baby rumble to life and purr beneath his hands as he rested them on the steering wheel.

He peeled out of the parking lot and drove till he found the road to the highway. To New Orleans it was then. Shame it was the wrong time of year for Mardi Gras, Dean thought to himself a smile on his face.

Another day, another hunt. Little did Dean Winchester know that within a few weeks' time his life was going to begin to change forever, setting him on a path he never would have dreamt of in a million years. Some would say it was for the better, others for the worse. But either way, the domino that had been tipped over years and years before his birth, was finally about to take an even more visible effect on the life of the Winchesters.

The End.

...

Not really I'm just messing with you. Or maybe it is the end and the chapter I'm gonna write after this is more like an epilogue or something, but either way there's at least a bit more I'm gonna squeeze out of this, after all how is Sammy's little bit going to end huh? ;)

But just as little note so you all know and remember, the voodoo case in New Orleans was the one Dean was on when he got that funky call from daddy dearest. If you don't remember then don't feel bad because I didn't either, I just knew he was on a hunt. Of course it gave me the perfect excuse to then watch the first episode again mwahahaha! God I miss the way the brothers used to be :( Well there will be more soon, so until then, ciao, and keep on watching out for some more :)


	11. Sam Winchester Epilogue Pt1

Sam wiped the tears from his face as he heard Jessica walking through into the living room.

"Are you okay Sam?" she asked concernedly in her sweet innocent voice.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just … Just thinking about Dean, I guess." He told her, his voice growing quieter as he spoke.

She sat down beside him and rested her head in the crook of his shoulder. He turned his face into her hair and inhaled the feminine fragrance of the shampoo that she used. He loved it because for some reason it always managed to calm him down. Probably because it was just so completely Jess. Vanilla. Simple, yet completely beautiful, and something you could never get tired of.

"What about him, Sam?" She asked of him gently.

"Just that I sometimes wish we could have the kind of relationship that we used to have. When he didn't judge me so harshly for wanting to go to college, for wanting to make something of myself you know?" He could tell Jess almost anything. Almost, because he never wanted to reveal to her the secrets of what truly hid in the dark. He wanted to protect her from that truth, at least.

"You know, Sam, people make rash choices everyday based on their emotions at the time of the event. Maybe when you first told him that you wanted to leave for college, Dean couldn't think past the fact that he was losing you. I mean you two grew up on the road together, you didn't really have any else but each other and your dad. Perhaps he was so focused on that at the time, he said or did things that he regrets now."

Sam had never thought of it like that. That maybe Dean was more focused on that he believed Sam was leaving him, rather than what Sam had actually been trying to say. Maybe all he had heard was 'leaving for college', and had zoned out after that, thinking that his brother was abandoning him.

When he had first brought it up, right before that god awful argument with his dad, Sam had only decided that he wanted to go to college. That he wanted something more for himself rather than this life he had been forced into. He had never intended to leave permanently and cut off all contact with them. Hell, he had chosen to be a lawyer _for _them, so that even though he might not be hunting, he could still help.

But then, as usual, his father's temper had gotten the better of him. And when John said no, he expected his son's to just fall in line. But Sam couldn't. Not this time. He wanted this whether John liked it or not, and he was going to college whether or not he condoned it.

And once voices had started rising, and Sam's own anger had taken over, his completely rational argument as to why John should let him go to college had flown out of the window in a haze of red, and determination that his father see his way of thinking despite the fact that the only thing they were doing was acting like idiots. Things had been said on both sides, but some of the things, Sam just wasn't sure if he could ever forgive his father saying them, whether he meant it or not.

And so when Sam had gone to walk out the door, his lone bag in hand, trying to leave before any other stupid things came out either of their moths, John had told him that if he was going to go then he should stay gone. Well Sam had completely lost it. Inside he had felt crushed and broken. Unwanted. On the outside, he had appeared focused and calm as he had given his father and his big brother one last look before silently walking out the door, slamming it behind him.

It had been then that he decided he would have nothing to do with either of them. His father clearly didn't want him around and his brother had betrayed him, he hadn't come to Sam's defense when he had always known how much Sam had wanted this. how much he had wanted to get as close to a normal life as he could.

And so he had cut off contact with them. All's they were was a reminder of how much he had always been an outcast, how he had never fitted in. Not at schools and not within his own family.

But maybe Jess was right. Maybe Dean had just been hurt and hadn't known what to do at the time, so he had chosen not to do anything. Not to defend his brother and not to defend his father. Just let them hash it out. Dean could never have known that John would say what he did.

Perhaps Sam could have his brother back?

It was something he could definitely think about, and seriously consider. All he had to do was pick up the phone. Answer it. Anything.

Sam decided to think about it more in the morning, when his head was clearer. When his mind was less like cotton from his lack of sleep.

He kissed Jess on the top of her head and rose up, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him as he did.

"Maybe your right," he said as he gazed into her tired yet beautiful blue eyes "maybe that's how he does feel. But right now all I know is that my brother hurt me like no one else could have and it could take me a while to forgive him. But I also know that if I could have my brother back in my life without the judgments then I would forgive him in a heartbeat."

"That's good Sam." She said as she wrapped her arms around his waist more firmly and laid her head against his chest. "Family is important."

"I know, Jess. But your my family too you know? I love you. More than life itself."

"I love you too Sam," she whispered as she hugged him even tighter "now let's go back to bed so I can show you just how much." She said with a twinkle in her eye as she pulled on his hand leading them back into the bedroom.

**Note - **So not going into detail as to what happens there but I think you get the idea ;) wink wink. So what will Sammy do next! We all know that Dean comes to him at Stanford and Sam never calls, but dudes, this is a fanfic! ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN! Mwahahahaha :D But don't worry your poor selves, there is a second part to this which will conclude the story, so keep tuned folks :) Wolfie135 over and out.


	12. Sam Winchester Epilogue Pt2

Sam had been indecisive all day. He just couldn't resolve the conflict within himself on whether or not he could let Dean back into his new life. His heart was telling him that he should. But then his head would come up with every reason that he shouldn't.

He was still wondering at it when he opened the door to his apartment. As it swung inwards the smell of just baked cookies reached his nose and Sam couldn't help but smile to himself. Jess was home. She loved to bake, and it was often that he found himself coming back to find that she had made one thing or another, usually something that always interested his sweet tooth more often than not.

He moved through to the kitchen and saw the plate of warm chocolate chip cookies laid out on the countertop. He grinned when he saw the note.

'Missed you! Love you!'

God, how he loved Jess. He didn't know what he'd do without her, without her warm laugh and her smiles. Without her touch and the way she just seemed to understand him without ever having to try. She had been a light in the dark after that dreadful night, and he would never be able to thank heaven enough for sending her his way.

He heard the shower running as he moved further into the small apartment and through to the bedroom, chewing the chocolaty concoction that was Jess's amazing baking skills. He slung his bag down onto the floor as he sat down on the bed.

For some reason he couldn't explain, he was tired. Not like he usually was after a day working at college, but tired like he used to be after a hunt. To the bone exhausted, just wanting to crawl into a bed and under the covers and then sleep for a week.

He shook it off though. He hadn't been on a hunt in years, and didn't plan on doing so in his near future or late future for that matter.

He sighed. Not a bad sigh, more like a 'glad to be back' sigh, or a contented one. He felt like he was home, here with Jess especially after the week he'd just had with Dean.

Wait, with Dean? He hadn't spoken to Dean this week, much less been around him for the whole of it. What the hell? Maybe his mind was getting confused between thinking of someone, and actually being around them. Man, did he really need to get a few hours of sleep, if his head was thinking thoughts like that.

Sam looked out the windows and saw that it was dark. Huh? He could have sworn it was a lot lighter when he had walked in.

Sam just shook himself off, and then flopped back on the bed, eyes closed and hands thrown behind his head. Apart from this recent conflict in self over Dean, life was good for him. Really good. If someone had asked him five years ago whether or not he thought his life was good he would have said no. It was okay, but it was far from good. And even then the only reason it had been okay was because of Dean. Everything else about his life before Stanford he had hated for its abnormality. Had hated because how many other fathers had been so okay with letting themselves die when he had two sons that were waiting for him to come back in one piece. How many other people had family that thought of hunting monsters as not just a job but as a way of life.

Sam banished all those thoughts from his head. It didn't matter so much anymore. He didn't hunt. Dean wasn't anywhere near as suicidal as their father had been, and most likely still was. And right now he had everything he had ever wanted. Well, almost everything, but Dean was just something that was going to have to wait five minutes whilst he instead bathed in the thoughts of Jess, and how it just might be a good idea to join her in that shower, or otherwise it was just as good to lie here and wait for her in anticipation.

He still had his eyes closed and was thinking about Jess, when he felt something wet and sticky drip onto his forehead. Sam shook his head sure it was nothing. The Sam felt the sticky wetness drip onto his head again. What on earth was that? He opened his eyes to see what it was, only to be met with his worst nightmare.

"NO!" He shouted out, a vain and pathetic attempt to try and stop the scene that was playing out before his very eyes.

He stared in wide eyed horror at the love of his life as she was splayed across the ceiling of the apartment. The blood dripping from her midsection was stark against the white night gown that covered her. Her look of anguish and pleading tore him apart.

Everything that he had never wished to come true had.

The ceiling around Jess burst into flames and emitting such an intense heat that Sam had to hold his hand up to guard his face from the penetrating heat of the blaze that was now consuming the body of the only girl that he had ever truly loved. The woman that he had been planning to marry someday.

For some reason he heard Deans voice shout out his name, but he couldn't focus on that now.

"Jess!" he screamed out, his voice hoarse as the fingers of the fiery beast above him completely engulfed the one woman who had meant the world to him, and took her from this life forever.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Jess!" Sam shouted as he shot up in bed, his whole body in a cold sweat. His breath came in short pants, his mind still caught in the clutches of pure fear. Fear for the life of the woman who held his heart.

"Sam?" Jess asked as she turned over to face him, her weary eyes opening with worry. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't tell Jess his dream. She wouldn't be able to fully understand the whole basis of his fear. The terror that this nightmare had induced inside of him.

"Nothing Jess. I'm fine." Sam said in as soothing a tone as he could, trying to reassure her. "It was just a bad a dream. Go back to sleep sweetheart."

"Are you sure?" she asked of him. To be honest he wasn't. But he didn't want to worry her, so he just said,

"Yeah." in a quiet voice.

He settled in next to her, his heart still pounding inside of his chest. He curled behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist, burying his face in her hair and drawing in her scent, trying to calm himself.

How would he have been able to tell Jess the true extent of his fears?

It wasn't just that he was scared of her dying. He guessed that every man in love feared that happening. It was just that Sam had more reason to than most.

He had grown up around death. Had been taught by his father on how to bring it around for monsters and ghouls, how to make sure that once they were down they stayed that way. He knew that it could happen so easily, he knew how fragile the human body and mind really was. Being face to face with it almost every day of his life up until college had taught Sam that you couldn't rely on life. A hunter's life span wasn't one of the longest for a reason.

Being a hunter had also taught him that there were more ways to die than just the human kind. There were all kinds of things that hid in the dark just waiting for one more unsuspecting human to fall prey and victim to them.

And that's where the rest – and most – of his fears lay. That Jess would be killed by something of the supernatural world. By a vampire, ghoul, demon or werewolf or any number of the other evil things out there. And that he wouldn't have been able to stop it. That it would have been his fault for bringing all of that supernatural crap into her life.

As he lay there thinking, Sam finally came to a decision. He couldn't willingly let Dean back into his life, even if his heart screamed at him that he should as he cemented the thought into his head. His head rationalised that letting Dean back in would be to let the Supernatural back in and he couldn't risk Jess' life like that. Not so that he could feel a bit of brotherly love.

It was final. He allowed his head to drown out the shouts and denials his heart was shouting at him, because after all, what had that ever gotten him.

Sam Winchester should have listened to what his heart had to say though. By denying Dean he had just made the Demons surrounding him all that more determined to fling him head first into the life that they wanted for him, the life that would lead to their Father being freed after all of this time. They would push him into it no matter what the collateral damage resulted in. After all they were demons. What did it matter to them?

The End

And yes it's the official end this time. All has been said and done and stuff … I know I could have made it so that Sam called Dean, and they could have lived almost happily after and shit like that but I mean where's the fun in that? ;) Besides I kinda wanted to coincide with the actually story line at the beginning of the series and stuff so yeah J I hope you all enjoyed and just as a side note I've put up the first chapter of my next story, it has a working title but so far I'm going with 'That Week At Bobby's'. If you all go back to that photo Sam pulled out of him and Dean, then I shall tell you all now that that photo is involved in it J thanks for reading and reviewing guys, and I'm glad that you all liked it and keep tuned for other stories!

Link to 'That Week At Bobby's' first chapter: s/8992979/1/


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